


Easy Pleasure

by MoanDiary



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Recreational Drug Use, The Live Más Lifestyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23763862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary
Summary: Everything is better when she's near.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 13
Kudos: 185
Collections: Filii Hircus: Chillin' on the Dock of the Bay





	Easy Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [matchstick_dolly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchstick_dolly/gifts).



> Written in the AO3 editor, without beta. 4/20, blaze it indeed.

Everything is better when she's near.

From the thrill of the chase to the pleasure of a kiss to the rapture of orgasm 一 the world sharpens into crisp focus around her. There's a keenness to the morning light in a window, the sound of running water, the taste of fruit, the susurration of sheets against skin. Is it some mystical effect, a celestial failsafe? Dad tugging on his strings in some great cosmic puppet show? Or is this simply what love feels like? Is he no different from any human man well and truly enamored of a beautiful woman who loves him, too?

Lucifer is surprised to find he no longer cares.

It's one of those rare weekends when he is gifted with the entirety of Chloe's attention. Friday night is a marathon of carnal pleasure. He's desperate to make it count, to get the most out of this time without the spawn or Dan or a case. She claws red lines up and down his back and his arse, and he's pleased to see they're still there the next day. He peeks over his shoulder at his reflection after they finally make their way out of his bed well after noon.

She walks up behind him, toothbrush in her mouth, and slaps his behind, the pain a sharp and surprising jolt. He yelps in protest but grins, and she grins back, lips still a bit swollen, a love bite on her collarbone peeking out from behind the neck of the shirt (one of his) that's all she's wearing. She is perfect and a bit of a disaster and she is _his_.

"What are we doing today?" she murmurs once she's spat and rinsed her mouth, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Film festival at the ArcLight."

She pouts. "Not _The Weaponizer_ , I hope."

He puts an affronted hand on his chest. "Those films are _art_. If you had any taste at all you'd realize that. But no, it's not a _Weaponizer_ festival."

She loves horror movies, surprisingly enough. If it has a monster in it, she's into it. Which is lucky because he happens to have more monster in him than a Hammer horror film. So he takes her to a Bruce Campbell marathon. He loads up on snacks and the biggest blue raspberry slushy money can buy at the concessions stand, and the multitudinous pockets of his jacket are laden with all manner of illicit goodies to supplement.

"Weed gummy?" he asks soon after they settle into their seats near the back of the sparsely-populated theatre, holding out the bag. He wonders idly if she'd be interested in making out like a pair of horny teenagers during _Evil Dead II_.

"No, thanks," she says primly, automatically, glancing briefly at the gummies before turning to look at the screen.

He shrugs and takes one for himself, considering for a moment before proceeding to pop a second one. There is a pregnant pause, then she turns back to him abruptly.

"You know what? I would like one."

"Detective!" he croons in triumph, proffering the bag again. She glances around furtively, as if worried her lieutenant is waiting in the wings to descend upon her the moment the edible passes her lips, but then pops it into her mouth. He watches her chew, feeling inordinately pleased, until the lights dim and the first movie begins.

A half hour in, he decides he must have gotten ahold of some _very_ good shit. Other than the occasional snort of evidence room cocaine or stray joint, he doesn't get high much around the Detective, but he does enough to know that either these drugs are especially good or there's some intense magic to following the entire course of a high with her pressed shoulder-to-shoulder against him. 

And Chloe is a delight. She's giggling. A lot. Even at things that aren't particularly funny. He spends almost as much time watching her as he does watching the screen, marveling at the steadily increasing relaxation of her posture, the loosening of her limbs when she moves, the increased frequency with which her hand dips into his extra-large bucket of buttered popcorn mixed with peanut M&Ms. Meanwhile, he feels exceptionally languid and comfortable, himself, entirely content to sit here in the dark with her, their greasy fingers brushing and tangling in the warm popcorn bucket, her face creasing in a ready smile that he can't help but mirror.

Dad help him, he loves her.

She begins to grow restless a half hour into _Army of Darkness_. She's still adorably intoxicated after helping herself to a second gummy about an hour ago. He's five deep and feeling _exceptionally_ good. She leans over until her lips brush his ear, far closer than she needs to be. 

"I'm hungry and you ate all the popcorn," she whispers.

He chuckles and whisks them out of the theatre. 

If it weren't for the price and cut of Lucifer's suit, they'd fit in perfectly with the rest of the crowd in the Taco Bell on Beverly Boulevard on a Saturday night. Chloe, for some reason, insisted on this, mumbling something about college and quesaritos that he doesn't quite catch.

The food they receive is obscene even by his standards, but it smells greasy and salty and delicious, and he knows—deeply—that this will hit the spot _precisely_.

They lay waste to their meal, tucked close next to each other on one side of a booth. Lucifer barely finishes before the detective does, sitting back with a truly infernal belch that she echoes a moment later.

"Augh," she groans, wiping her face with a huge clump of paper napkins. "That hit the spot." She tosses the used napkins down on the table and lets her hand flop towards his lap. He thinks for a confused moment she's trying to hold his hand, but instead it lands squarely on his crotch, giving him a gentle squeeze.

"Oh," he says, feeling a bit too full to move, but apparently not too full to get an erection on a sticky plastic booth seat in a grimy, crowded, fluorescent-lit Taco Bell.

"You wanna see what the situation in the bathroom is?" she asks seductively, hair loose and eyes a bit drowsy, looking like some kind of weed goddess. He knew Drunk Chloe was a horny disaster, but Stoned Chloe goes beyond the pale. He loves it. It's terrifying. He might be entirely too many edibles deep to care.

The bathroom situation is not good.

It feels great anyway.

Everything's better when she's near.


End file.
